


Here Comes The Rush Before We Touch

by stardustedknuckles



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Flash Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Meet-Cute, Modern Era, massage therapist yasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29892240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustedknuckles/pseuds/stardustedknuckles
Summary: Beau deeply embarrasses herself in front of Dairon during a sparring match, but it's not all bad. The place she gets sent for patching up is run by some weird folks, but she's pretty sure she'll fit right in.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Caduceus Clay & Yasha, Dairon & Beauregard Lionett, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Yasha
Comments: 16
Kudos: 218





	Here Comes The Rush Before We Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Another one of those fics that comes after I spend an hour worrying "what if I can't write anymore." As you do. But seriously, my volume of fics will probably slow as the weather warms. It's a good thing, really. A sign my brain is ready to have an interest in stuff again, like walking and going places and doing things. Always gonna love beauyasha though, don't worry.

Okay, Beau thinks. Maybe that pain at the base of her spine should've gotten more of her attention before right this second. 

Crumpled facedown on the sparring mat and making some truly embarrassing noises, Beau wonders vaguely what the chances are that the earth will open at this precise moment and swallow her whole - _before_ Dairon gets to say "I told you so."

She can hear them approaching, does her best to control her breathing so the list of indignities doesn't have to get any longer than "kicked wrong and can't fucking get off the ground now."

"I'm fine," she spits through gritted teeth, but Dairon says nothing as they kneel next to her. Their fathomless golden eyes rake over every inch of Beau in a way that's not _not_ hot but still mostly pings as mortifying. Beau flinches with a hiss at the feel of their hand on her lower back, but they just rest their palm flush against her sweaty skin and nudge her hand out of the way to probe gently.

"Stop moving, Beau."

They never call her Beau, always Beauregard, and that's enough to make her freeze even if her face is still burning. "This mat smells like feet," she says, because at least deflective humor feels like doing something. "Ow. Fuck."

Dairon inhales in that special way Beau suspects is reserved just for her and removes their fingers to sit back and meet her eyes. "How long have you been dealing with pain?"

Beau shrugs, winces. "You're going to have to be more specific." Dairon doesn't even blink, and their undivided attention plus the use of her name makes Beau relent enough to mumble, "s'just been the last few days. Figured if I worked through it it'd go away." She carefully lifts her head just to get the side of her mouth off the mat and spits a little. "I promise I wasn't purposefully ignoring my body or whatever, I just thought it was maybe tight. Please don't ban me from coming in."

Something goes soft in Dairon's expression in the instant before they rise and start gathering Beau under the shoulders. Beau would be lying if she said she's not always a little turned on when it comes to being manhandled by her teacher, but right now that's overridden by pain and dread that Dairon won't believe her. Yeah, maybe she'd gone a little harder today than normal because of the text she got from her dad, but she was legitimately trying to be healthy about her reaction and get it all out through controlled sparring.

"I'm not banning you," Dairon says in her ear, and there's just the slightest amount of strain in their voice because yeah, hauling around trainees as tall as them isn't exactly their main skill set. "But you will be out of commission for a few weeks regardless."

The relief that had broken over Beau at the first part of Dairon's words dissolves into dread as Beau gets her feet under her with their help. "Weeks?"

Their voice holds the faintest trace of sympathy, another facet that gets reserved for Beau. "Months if you don't follow directions and let it heal properly. I've seen this happen to better fighters than you, and it can ruin a whole career if you ignore it."

"I didn't mean to ignore it," Beau protests. "How was I supposed to know it wasn't just stiff?"

Dairon gets the both of them sat on a bench and pulls Beau's arm from around their shoulders to turn to her. "If stretching it makes it worse, it's not just stiff."

Well. When they put it _that_ way…

Dairon catches the eye of a trainer and makes some kind of hand signal that sends him dashing away with a quick nod to get whatever that'd meant. "Do you have a heating pad at home?"

Beau snorts. "I have a sock, some rice, and a microwave if that counts."

If Dairon is at all impressed or dismayed by this, they don't show it. They hardly ever do. It's very attractive of them, if Beau may say so herself. Which she doesn't, because she knows what a fucking boundary is, thank you. But it's still nice.

Dairon's pulled a tiny pencil and a pack of post-it notes from some pocket Beau didn't notice and still can't spot, and they finish scribbling a short list of items before peeling off the top one and handing it to Beau. "Go here, ask for these. They'll help with pulled muscle pain without making you feel less than alert."

It never fails to amaze Beau how easy Dairon makes it look to deal with her stubborn ass. Pulled muscles are like, a big deal and she'd probably be better served to go to an emergency room or a clinic. But Dairon doesn't suggest those things and won't unless it's non-negotiable, and that's what makes Beau feel so…equal, in some way. Dairon does negotiate with her, so she can trust that when they don't it's because they can't.

She takes the little paper and folds it. "Thanks."

The trainer comes jogging up with a blue gel pack and a set of wraps, and Dairon accepts them both with a nod of thanks. "Stay still," they say to Beau, and then they're binding the cold pack right up against the muscle that's giving her so much hell and she grits her teeth and obeys.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Dairon comes to check her over and gives her the okay to leave, and twenty minutes after _that_ , Beau finds herself at the door of a place that looks more like a venue for a palm reading than a place she'd go for pain meds. That tracks, she figures. She'd recognized the names of some of the items Dairon wrote down from books and random information she'd picked up over the years, and it's not stuff she'd exactly expect to find at a CVS.

Beau walks in and oh yeah, palm readings definitely happen here. The smell of patchouli hits her and she braces for the sense of overwhelm, but it's…nice, oddly. Not cloying, not demanding her attention. It actually kind of smells like a controlled and intentional scent and not like someone desperately trying to cover up another smell.

It's pleasantly dim but for the register in the back corner, which is bathed in soft sunlight and manned by a tall firbolg with aggressively pastel pink hair and a look Beau would describe as crunchy on most people but actually seems to suit him.

He smiles a gentle smile and waves. "Hello. Are you Beau?"

"Uh…" Beau blinks a little. "Yeah? Please don't tell me you're clairvoyant, I _will_ call you on the bullshit."

He chuckles at that. "No, Dairon called ahead. They send people to us for help now and again."

Beau's back had been feeling much better since the ice gel, but now it's starting to twinge again as she approaches the desk and looks around. There's a glass display case of tarot cards on the side of it. "Us?"

"Yep. I run this place with my two friends. They'll be back from lunch soon, but I think it's mostly me you're here to see for today."

Beau pulls open the post-it. "Are you Caduceus?"

He beams, and she could swear some of the green things in the pots on the desk stand up a little straighter. "In the flesh. Let me see what Dairon's got written for you there."

Beau hands over the list and tries not to wince when her back protests again. Shit, what is she, eighty? "You uh, you got anywhere I could hang out and sit down for a minute maybe?"

"Oh, of course. Right over here." Caduceus indicates a large, squashy chair in front of a small table that looks like a single thick slice of a tree, polished and littered artfully with assorted books on crystals and tea.

Beau nods a thanks and sits down as the door chimes and two people step inside mid-conversation.

"It's not like I came onto him, geez," one of them is grumbling. They're a tiefling, brilliantly lavender with unsettling red eyes and decked out in loud, loose clothing that jingles a little in time with the delicate chains and pendants dangling from their horns. Of the two of them, they're objectively the one most eyes would land on, but then Beau sees the other person and _oh_.

"It's hard to tell for most people, to be fair," she teases, and Beau is a goner at the mere thought of that voice being turned on her, wow.

"Oh hey guys, just in time," Caduceus calls from behind the counter. "Dairon sent us a new one. Beau, this is Yasha and Molly."

Both of them turn to look at her and fuck, maybe it's the patchouli but Beau's mouth is dry as hell as she looks the woman over. She's dressed incredibly simply in a loose, sleeveless shirt that shows off some truly incredible muscles and a bright green vine tattoo, and her pants are dark but shine in a way that suggests leather. Beau can see a dark stripe on the pale skin under her lip, and the lines are crisp enough that she figures it to be another tattoo instead of makeup. Her hair is a wonder of silver and black braided on one side of her head and resting over her other shoulder, and the tiefling is openly smirking - no, sneering - at Beau's expression.

She pulls herself together and lifts a hand. "I'm Beau."

The tiefling looks unimpressed. "So he said."

"Molly," the woman chides gently. That must be Yasha, then.

The tiefling lifts their hands. "Right, sorry. Customer service and all that."

That breaks some kind of tension in Beau and she snorts. "Doesn't bother me, I can give as good as I get."

Molly looks her up and down and sniffs the air thoughtfully, eyebrow raised. "Not if Caduceus is putting together what I think he is."

"I am," Caduceus pipes up helpfully.

Beau's face burns, and she hopes the relative dimness hides some of it. She had a really good retort, honest, but then Yasha looks at her intently and pretty much incinerates every possible thought Beau's gonna have for the next month or so and says, "you're in a lot of pain. What happened?"

Molly tsks at her. "Your lunch break is called a break for a reason, dear, you're supposed to stop working."

Yasha gives Beau a conspiratorial smile, which does nothing for her higher functions. "Don't mind him, he's a sweetheart."

"I am no such thing, you take that back."

Beau grins a little nervously in spite of herself. "I was uh. Fighting. I'm real good at it too, you should see the other guy."

She sees Molly roll his eyes around Yasha's hip. "You're here. They're not. Can't be that bad."

"Maybe she killed them." There's humor in Yasha's suggestion, but the way it rolls off her tongue and the sharp quality of Molly's smile tells Beau there's some kind of casual familiarity there. She looks at Yasha's hands dangling open by her sides and swallows. Those could absolutely kill a man.

They also look soft as all hell.

"You're actually on the menu, Yasha," Caduceus calls from the counter. "You've got a slot open tomorrow, if that's alright with everyone."

Beau blinks up at Yasha. "If Dairon prescribed you to me, I am going to kiss them full on the mouth."

Yasha looks gently startled, and then her face breaks into a smile. "They probably signed you up for a massage from me, if that clarifies your decision."

Beau nods dumbly and this time she knows she deserves whatever look that tiefling is giving her. "It definitely does."

Yasha's close enough to smell like this, a dizzying mix of musk and fresh air and something that sits in the back of Beau's throat like ozone and makes a bunch of cliches run through her head at top speed - at least until Yasha reaches a hand to hover behind Beau's neck. That halts all the sappy shit pretty effectively. "May I?" Beau nods again with a prayer she doesn't pull something in her neck too.

Well. She could actually be persuaded right now to pull a lot of things, frankly, but the embarrassment might actually kill her before she got to enjoy the consequences.

Yasha's fingers splay between her shoulders and lean her forward with a gentleness that belies the very real strength Beau can feel even through this simple touch. She rests her elbows on her knees and grits her teeth to keep from jumping as Yasha's hand runs down her spine and presses tentatively at a spot near her waistband that sets her on fire immediately - and not just because the pain lights her up like a motherfucker.

"Here?"

"Yep." Beau's voice isn't a squeak, exactly, but it's coming closer than she'd like. "You found it."

Yasha hmms and pushes something that's nowhere fucking close to the pain but somehow radiates some kind of pulse down along her nerve to settle right in the middle of the tension. Beau exhales shakily and leans a little to look sideways up at Yasha. "How the fuck did you do that?"

Yasha looks pleased. "I'm very good at what I do. Do you have five minutes?"

"Yasha," Molly groans. "You're going to give the poor girl the wrong idea."

Beau gets the briefest glimpse of the look Yasha turns to give Molly and knows immediately that it's going to keep her awake for several of the upcoming long nights she'll be stuck on the couch.

Molly's eyebrows shoot up. "Seriously? That's such a cliché." He grins that sharp grin again and wipes away a mock tear. "I'm so proud."

  
Beau catches his eye and sticks her tongue out at him, and he gratifies her with a scowl before turning to vanish behind a curtain. "Yes," she clarifies to Yasha. "I definitely have five minutes. But, um." She's not a total asshole, okay. "It is your lunch break though, so…you don't have to, I can wait until tomorrow."

It's so close to a lie, but she's at least still self-aware enough to know it's not. She's not that dramatic.

"I appreciate it," Yasha says, guiding Beau to stand up with an upwards pressure on her back, "but I very much enjoy helping people when I can. You deserve to at least make it home without collapsing on the way and making it worse, right?"

"Uh. I mean. Deserve?"

"Oh my gods just go with it," Molly calls from behind the curtain. "But no happy endings during store hours."

Now they're both blushing, and somehow this more than anything settles Beau as she lets Yasha take a little more of her weight and says, "I can see why you like him."

Yasha leads her around the table to the main walkway, blessedly kept free of obstacles. "He's…good for pushing me to go for what I want."

Beau grins. "This happen a lot then?"

"Well…no. Never."

That sobers Beau up in a single, stuttered heartbeat. "Yeah, okay. I'll uh. Tone it down, just say the word." She tries to stand up a little straighter, but Yasha's hands don't give a millimeter.

"No need. Just let me help you and send you home with the stuff Caduceus is brewing, and then see how tomorrow goes?"

They've stepped into a back room that's somehow all at once apart from and very much connected to the two different vibes Caduceus and Molly have going on out front. It looks cleaner without feeling sterile - inviting and professional all in one. "Yeah. Tomorrow. Yes, definitely. I'll be here."

She sits in the chair Yasha indicates and winces as she stretches forward along the support in the front to fully expose her back. "Good," Yasha murmurs, scooting forward in her own chair behind. Beau hears a cap pop open and then closed again a second later, Yasha's hands rubbing together, and then those big, strong fingers push in up close to the base of her sports bra and begin to knead and work their way downward. "The same is true for me," she says suddenly. "I'm…I can also 'tone it down.' There is something magnetic about you, but I don't mean to be too forward."

Beau comes down from fucking heaven long enough to mumble, "been called a lot of things, but magnetic is new. And don't you dare tone it -" her last words cuts off in a near-obscene moan that would be embarrassing as hell if she had literally any fucks to spare on caring.

She hears Yasha chuckle softly as her thumbs do something unholy near her spine. "Well in that case, I hope it's not always this easy to shut you up."

"Sorry to disappoint," Beau manages, "but you do this, and it definitely, really will be."

"Noted." Yasha sounds far from disappointed.

Beau feels a pressure that runs right up to the edge of pain, and then something releases near the base of her spine and she has to cut off a sob that comes from nowhere at the relief rippling through her. It's like someone just shot her up with the feeing of summer or some shit, and she rolls her forehead onto the pad supporting her to take the first clear breath she's had in an hour.

"Fuck. Me." It takes her a sluggish second to realize what she's said and half of that to decide she does not care at all.

She can hear Yasha's smile in her voice and is a little taken aback by the vague sense of pride she feels knowing she caused it. "Patience," Yasha says. "Let's see where we are in a few weeks."

Beau groans, but she can't quite find the frustration. "I might just be goo by then," she warns.

Yasha laughs quietly. "I can work with goo, don't worry."

Honestly, Beau's not sure she could worry if she wanted to right now.

And she doesn't want to, so she doesn't.


End file.
